God clearly didn't have Atrial Fibrillation. At least back then. Nowadays, things seem to be a bit more shaky also for him.
Nor was he trying to steer clear from junk food and loads of sugar while his family was giving him the suspicious eye that you would typically reserve the local madman crying wolf with a cabbage-powered steaming time machine.
But, wait. I need to give you a short context if you want to savor the irony of this story fully. Please bear with me for just thirty seconds.
Just a few months ago, I was blissfully oblivious of the Thrombogenic Hypothesis; the way Hyperglycemia affects – for the worst – the Glycocalyx; or what in hell the Glycocalyx is in the first place.
Yes, ignorance really is bliss.
Or, is it?
Then AFib got me studying. Maybe not really studying, but at least trying to figure out what was going on inside my chest. Not only did I learn a few things about our cardiovascular system but also regarding the Insulin Cycle.
Ok, so far, so good. You probably knew this already. And if you didn't, I hope now you will develop a degree of curiosity in how your body works.
The story gets intriguing when the main character – alas: me – decides to go back home and visit his parents after a few months of living abroad. I live in southern Sweden, my parents in northern Italy. It's not so far away, but COVID-19 makes every place seems like Far Far Away Land.
I come home and inevitably enter a conversation with my old folks. What do you think they use as a conversation starter? Stock market trades? Hollywood VIP gossiping?
Yes, you guessed correctly:
Hi son, how do you do?
This is the only assist I need to start an enthusiastic monologue on changing my lifestyle to embrace my condition and trying to make the best of it. After all, my parent set me up with the old adage: when Life throws lemons at you, you make lemonade. Right?
They listen, they smile, they seem to get it. Then they talk:
so, what do you want to eat?
It's Christmas. Let's have some delicious sweets.
D'Oh! – I may not have made my point come through. So I try again and explain the possible causes of my condition and what nutritional choices I am willing to make to grant me the best possible chances of beating it into remission.
Mom, dad, I decided to go easy on the sugar.
I avoid pasta.
I renounced pizza the same way I renounced Satan back in the day.
I'm eating Brussels sprouts like you always wanted me to.
I almost expect them to hug me in appreciation for their son has finally come to see a dim light of wisdom in his life. Almost.
Son, make sure you don't exaggerate with this new trend of yours.
D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh! D'Oh!
How, how in the name of the Lord, can you work this out?
Full Disclaimer: I still love them — a lot. I only needed to write this out to get the frustration out of the system. Thank you for sharing 😀.